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The other day I stopped at a Plaid Pantry (convenience store) on my way home to grab some fuel for one of the all-too-frequent all-nighters I’ve pulled recently.

I gathered my various energy drinks and nerd fuel and headed to the register, which apparently was being manned by a pirate.

Seriously.

He was a tall, lanky fellow with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail.  A skull and crossbones bandanna was curiously wrapped around his head, which nicely complimented the rest of his pirate outfit.  I could only assume that authentic pirate garb is apparently out of reach when you are living on a Plaid Pantry Sales Associate’s salary, so instead he had assembled a mostly black ensemble, highlighted by the black pleather vest that he had chosen to sling over his long sleeved black Slayer t-shirt.

Really, though, I think it was his scruffy unshaven face and the hoop earrings that really topped it off.

Trying not to make eye contact and resisting the urge to ask him if his name was Arrrrrrnold, I placed my items on the counter with the intention of paying and getting out of there as quickly as possible.  That was when his aroma decided to assault my face, which can only be described as a fairly healthy dose of BO with noticeable ass-sweat undertones, a dash of old spice and a splash of jizz.  I guess he was probably going for the ‘butt pirate’ scent, but again I refrained from asking.

I got my money ready in preparation for my quick exit and glanced around the empty store in my continued attempt to avoid his piratey stare.  I couldn’t help but wonder if the curiously empty store was referred to by their corporate office as a “sinking ship”.

“A little OCD, are ya?”

Damn it.  Wait, what?

“You grabbed two of everything” he said, apparently seeing the confusion on my face.

“Oh.  Yeah, maybe in some ways” I replied, surveying the assortment of items that were neatly paired on the counter.

I’ve always been a bit weird about certain things.  I do tend to buy even numbers of things, the money in my wallet all has to be facing and oriented in the same direction (not to mention in order by denomination…all of which will drive me nuts), and I often have to double and triple check the stove/locked doors/etc.

“Mostly it is just little things.”

“That’s good, man.  Just imagine if you had it really bad.  You’d be buying 2 computers, 2 cars, 2 houses…”

Great.  Suburban butt pirate is stoned off his ass.  He also occasionally says the occasional word with a slight Irish accent, which is fairly amusing since he looks about as Irish as Wesley Snipes.

“Hey, that doesn’t really sound all that bad.  I think the real problem would start when I got two wives.  That would start getting expensive.”

“Maybe you could find some wives that didn’t like shopping.”

“Wait, those exist?”

“…good point.”

“You know, that doesn’t sound so good after all.  I’d probably have to get two jobs.  Plus, guys get shafted bad enough with one…imagine two divorces.”

Our conversation came to a close as he handed me my change and I grabbed my bag.  He looked to be deep in thought as I headed out the door.

He truly looked like his mind had been blown.  Poor sometimes-Irish suburban butt pirate.

So I headed back home and, not having those two wives, ended up masturbating.

Twice.